


Gourmet

by Basingstoke



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Established Relationship, Fantasy, Fetish, M/M, Pornography, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-22
Updated: 2001-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Fuzzi for the encouragement and RavenD for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gourmet

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Fuzzi for the encouragement and RavenD for the beta.

Frohike tilted his head. "Her heart's not in it. She's faking it."

Mulder sighed. "Is it really that much to ask for actors who are actually into what they portray?"

Frohike considered that. His head tilted this other way as he watched the action on the screen. "Well, this is a little..."

"Kinky?" Mulder suddenly grinned.

"I was going to say 'gourmet.'"

The actress faked an orgasm and they both frowned. Ordinarily it would have been enough for Frohike, but...he'd been around Scully for two hours today, smelling her perfume or whatever the heck it was that made women smell so much better than, say, Langly. "That was strangely unsatisfying."

Mulder nodded, but then, nothing was ever enough for him. He turned it off and started the tape rewinding. "Cops" appeared on the screen.

Frohike watched a very drunk woman beat her head against the window of the police car. "Want to try another one?"

Mulder rubbed his chin. "Sure." The tape finished rewinding and Mulder retrieved it, dropping to his knees to return it to the box. "What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't know...something gourmet."

Mulder pawed through the box. "Bondage?"

"Yawn."

"Fisting?"

"Let me see the box." Mulder held it up and Frohike peered. "We watched that one last week."

"Oh yeah." Mulder kept rummaging. "That one and the one with the hamster, right?"

"Fake hamster."

"Real."

Frohike sat up. "Fake! I could see the seams."

"Real. I could see the teeth." Mulder smirked over his shoulder.

"Plastic teeth."

Mulder waved his hand dismissively. "Hey! Midgets!" He held another tape up.

Frohike stared at him. Mulder stared back. "Don't toy with me," Frohike growled. "I could wipe out your entire porno directory using nothing but a pay phone and a harmonica."

"Yes, *sir.*" Mulder put the tape back. He paused with his hand still on the tape. "But--there's not really anything else."

"Hm." Frohike crossed the room to stand over Mulder, looking down into the box. "What happened? Half your collection is gone."

"I'm not sure. I came home one day and my tapes were rifled. Nothing else, just the tapes. I suspect Krycek." Mulder scowled.

"That bastard."

"Yeah." Mulder sighed and sagged back on his heels.

Frohike rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at Mulder's head, thinking about history and Scully and Langly and Byers. "DIY is always an option. The preferred option for some."

Mulder barked out a laugh and looked up. "I thought you were cutting back on your homosexual dalliances?"

"I was."

"Changed your mind?"

"Langly turned thirty-two last week."

"And I forgot to get him a present."

"Don't worry, we forged your signature on the card. Anyway, we got him drunk on tequila--"

Mulder winced.

"Yeah. But before he puked into the back issues, he confessed to being a virgin."

"Langly?"

"I believe him. He sounded sincere."

"But Langly's cute. And blond." Mulder rolled the word "blond" around in his mouth like a wine taster with a sip of merlot. Frohike figured it was another of his endless kinks; virginity probably was too.

"It made me reevaluate," Frohike said. "We have a pleasant and mutually gratifying arrangement here. I'd be a fool to give it up prematurely."

"So you're saying you want to fuck?"

"Yep."

"Can I call you Krycek?"

"If I can call you Scully."

"Deal." Mulder grinned, unbuckled Frohike's belt and slid it out of the loops slowly. His expression shifted to the speculative: pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "You know, we haven't done *this* in a while." Mulder held the belt to his neck, looking up at Frohike.

"I hate doing it."

"You can fuck me if you do." Mulder draped the belt around his neck and gave Frohike coquettish looks through his lashes. "You know it's always great."

It *was* always great, that was the thing. Frohike sighed. "Okay, okay. But no breath control. It's too freaky."

"Deal." Mulder stood up and headed briskly for the bedroom. Frohike followed.

The bedroom was different from last time, but that was hardly new; Frohike didn't even bother asking questions about changes in Mulder's apartment any more. The mirror over the bed was gone, thank goodness. The walls were painted light yellow rather than light blue, and there was a glowing alien-head alarm clock on the nightstand. The nightstand looked different too, actually, but Frohike couldn't put his finger on it.

The bed had only a black and white checked sheet on it, no blankets. A garment bag lay across the bed. Mulder tossed it on the floor and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving Frohike's belt in place. "I don't figure you'd tie your left arm behind your back, would you?"

Frohike shook his head. "Definitely not."

Mulder dropped his shirt on the garment bag. "Know any Russian?"

Frohike unbuttoned his vest. "Izvinitye, pozhalsta, pochemu zovut vashi kozi Lenin?"

Mulder closed his eyes and shivered. He let his trousers fall over his bare feet. Frohike crossed the few steps to Mulder, running his knuckles over Mulder's firm belly before letting Mulder undress him.

Mulder's problem was that he was so specific about sex. He liked undressing, not being undressed. He liked force, giving or getting. He liked being strangled. He liked being spoken to in languages he didn't understand. He liked fantasy a *lot*--that was what got most people, but Frohike didn't mind. Mulder would close his eyes and call out for Skinner or Scully or Brad Pitt, but eventually he would always open his eyes and see Frohike and smile.

It was a weird relationship, but not a bad one.

Mulder peeled off Frohike's vest and shirt and dropped them on top of his. He knelt down, petted Frohike's chest hair, tongued his nipple, stroked Frohike's dick through his pants. Frohike rubbed his hands through Mulder's still-thick hair and Mulder smiled.

Mulder opened his pants and tugged them down with his shorts. "Shoes," Frohike said, sounding strangled already. Mulder nodded and unlaced them to strip Frohike naked. Then he pulled away and stood up. Frohike's belt was still fastened around his neck.

"So."

"So? What does being Krycek entail?"

Mulder closed his eyes. He was summoning the fantasy. "You've broken into my apartment...rifled through my stuff...found me in the bedroom," he murmured. "You didn't find what you were looking for originally."

"I'm not hitting you."

"You could slap me," Mulder said, his lips smiling and his eyes still closed.

"I don't have to hit you. Amateur." Frohike grabbed Mulder's shoulder and twisted the opposite arm up behind his back as he shoved Mulder down on the bed. "Where's the tape?" he growled.

Frohike pressed his dick against Mulder's ass and Mulder's breath came quicker. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about and I wouldn't tell you even if I did, Krycek you bastard!"

Frohike pressed harder on Mulder's arm and ass, and Mulder groaned and rubbed his forehead on the sheet. "I want that tape. Don't make me take *extreme measures*."

"Go ahead! I won't crack."

Frohike released Mulder's arm and flipped him over on the bed. Mulder opened his eyes and smiled at Frohike. He drew up his knees and closed his eyes again. "Do your worst," Mulder hissed, and shimmied against the sheet.

Frohike crawled after him, planted a hand in the middle of his chest and held the other by Mulder's cheek, just close enough that body heat radiated between them. Mulder's hips jumped and his breath came faster. "I haven't even begun to do my worst."

Mulder grinned and opened his eyes again. "You're good at this, Frohike."

"Practice makes perfect."

Mulder rubbed his thigh against Frohike's dick. "Going to show me who's boss?"

"I'm the boss." Frohike grabbed Mulder's ankles and folded Mulder up into himself. The guy was in great shape, that was for sure. Frohike was nowhere near that flexible. He reached over to the nightstand and that's when he realized what was different. "Mulder, there's no drawer."

"Drawer?"

"In the nightstand. Where's your stuff?"

Mulder frowned. "Um. Under the bed?"

Frohike let go of Mulder's legs to peer over the edge of the bed. "Who does the redecorating in here, anyway?"

"Beats me. Maybe Consortium, maybe aliens. Maybe Scully." Mulder rolled over and hung off the bed, rummaging around underneath it.

"Scully would never buy checked sheets."

"She might." Mulder grunted and reached further.

"She has better taste than that."

"You haven't seen her tattoo. Aha!" Mulder tossed a condom and a tube of Astroglide onto the pillow.

Frohike felt faint. "She has a tattoo?"

"Yeah." Mulder pulled himself back onto the bed and curled around Frohike's thighs.

"An actual tattoo? You've seen it?"

"Yeah. It's an Ouroboros."

"Oh my God." Just the thought of ink on that beautiful skin...Frohike shuddered.

"Come on, you can pretend I'm her." Mulder kissed Frohike's inner elbow, making him shiver again. And Frohike couldn't really--the feel of Mulder was nothing like the feel of a woman--but the offer counted. It wasn't like Scully herself was going to let him see that tattoo in person.

"I could tape some water balloons to my chest," Mulder said.

"No thanks." Frohike prodded Mulder. "Get me ready, big boy."

"You're the big boy," Mulder said as he tore open the condom. "I'm the slutty bottom boy."

"You don't get laid often enough to be a slut." Mulder's hands were practiced, though. He knew his way around Frohike's underpinnings.

"In spirit I'm a slut." Mulder rolled onto his back. He tightened the belt another notch.

"Careful."

Mulder tugged on the belt. "It's just so I know it's there." Mulder wrapped his legs around Frohike's waist and pulled them together with a flex of his knees. Frohike pinned Mulder's wrists to the bed, watching his skin work as he tossed against Frohike's light grip.

He never grabbed very hard, but that was okay; Mulder just needed enough for the fantasy. And in the same way, Mulder never looked very feminine; just smelled nice and presented Frohike with large expanses of smooth, touchable skin. Smooth until he hit the chest hair, anyway, but it was enough for the fantasy, and the reality of it was pretty darn good too.

He didn't have to be careful. Mulder was used to him, and they fit together pretty well; Mulder's legs wrapped around him, his arms wrapped around Mulder. Mulder's smooth, hot skin. Mulder's muscles. Mulder beneath him and around him.

Mulder writhed under him, rocked and rolled, tossed his head back, and that was the sign. Frohike slid his thumb up Mulder's throat under his jaw, the pulse in his thumb beating staccato against the pulse in Mulder's carotid artery, and he pressed down.

The artery under his thumb felt like a living thing, squirming faster and faster as Mulder shouted and came and passed out. Frohike immediately let go.

It really was amazing how innocent Mulder managed to look when he was out, Frohike thought. His body and his pretty face did a lot to conceal the messed-up brain inside.

He pulled out, took off the condom. He unhooked his belt from around Mulder's neck. He rubbed Mulder's cheeks until he revived.

Mulder frowned for a minute, then smiled. "Mmm." Mulder had said once that it always took him a second to figure out where he was after a faint; he had to figure out if he was in the hospital or some foreign jail cell or had finally been taken by aliens. Being in bed with a good friend was the strangest of several possibilities, Mulder had said with a smile.

Frohike rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "I've known you too long," he muttered.

"Mm?"

"This just stopped feeling strange."

"Mm." Mulder squirmed closer and rested his forehead against Frohike's upper arm. "Isn't strange, just gourmet. Not for everyone."

Frohike stroked Mulder's hair. "It would scare me if this were for everyone."

"Can sleep here."

"The guys would never let me hear the end of it." But he closed his eyes for a few minutes anyway. Mulder kissed his shoulder and went to sleep.

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of the (bad) Russian: "Excuse me, please, why is your goat named Lenin?"


End file.
